


The Peculiar Act of Exorcising Demons

by aravenwood



Series: Whumptober 2020 [12]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Demonic Possession, Gen, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Consensual Electroconvulsive Therapy, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:20:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27024184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aravenwood/pseuds/aravenwood
Summary: Jaskier is possessed by a demon and the only way to get it out is by torturing it until it leaves.Written for the Whumptober 2020 prompt "possession".
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Whumptober 2020 [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947343
Comments: 8
Kudos: 62
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	The Peculiar Act of Exorcising Demons

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! You know something funny? When I was originally deciding on which prompts to write for throughout the month, I picked them for this fandom. But it seems like The Old Guard has taken over my life more than I thought because that's pretty much the only fandom I've wanted to write for. But I saw possession on my list and the only character I could imagine writing for was Jaskier. And somehow this ended up being much longer than I intended it to be. "Just a short one," past me said. Ha!
> 
> TW for some descriptions of torture by electrocution.
> 
> Please enjoy!

“I will kill you all!” Jaskier snarled, words that were not his in a voice that was not his. And yet they came from his mouth, harsh words forced from his throat by a demon in his mind - a demon who apparently had a grudge against, well, everything. In the full day since Jaskier was first strapped to the table he’d threatened to kill everyone in the room no fewer than fifteen times, and he’d threatened Geralt at least double that in the ride into the city.

Jaskier used to teach in Oxenfurt, he’d mentioned once, and now he was back in his favourite city and unable to enjoy it. There was a chance he didn’t even know that they were there, his own mind forced down in favour of the demon’s. Geralt hoped with everything he had that it wasn’t the case, that Jaskier had at least some awareness of what was going on - the fear Jaskier had showed as he begged for Geralt to get the demon out of him was so real, so guttural that it could only have come from him.

Surrounding the table on which Jaskier was trapped were several mages. They were close friends, apparently, and were well-known in the area. Geralt himself had run into them several times and while he didn’t like them, he did appreciate that they were experts in their field. And he knew that if anyone could help Jaskier, it was them.

The tallest of the three, whose name Geralt recalled was Gunther, pulled out a knife. Geralt’s first instinct was to place himself between the man and Jaskier, but Gunther only laughed. “Relax, Witcher. I am simply cutting his shirt open.” He paused for a second, glancing between Jaskier’s writhing form and the knife in silent debate with himself. Finally he nodded and offered the knife to Geralt. “But perhaps you should do it yourself.” His voice was soft, compassionate, and for a moment Geralt was thrown by it.

He recovered quickly and took the knife in his hand, then leaned over Jaskier and sliced open his shirt. He spent an extra few seconds examining the soft skin of Jaskier’s chest, ensuring that he hadn’t nicked any skin. Jaskier’s ribs were showing, he noticed too, a result of the demon’s refusal to allow Jaskier to eat.

Satisfied at least that he hadn’t hurt the bard, Geralt returned the knife to Gunther.

“Thank you,” the man said and placed the knife on the small table next to him. “Now, Witcher. I will be blunt, we can remove this demon from his mind but it will be unpleasant. Sofia has deduced that it has latched onto the bard’s very consciousness, controlling his every thought and action. She suspects that it is even controlling involuntary actions, like his breathing. It has total control in an attempt to make a full claim on its host. And to remove it…we must force it out.”

Geralt narrowed his eyes. “You’re going to torture it,” he accused. “No, you’re going to torture Jaskier and hope that the demon gives a shit.”

The only woman in the trio of mages, Sofia, rolled her eyes. “You want your bard back, don’t you? This is the only way.”

“And it will be fast. He will not suffer for long,” the final mage offered in a much stronger accent than the others. He was younger than the other two and had not yet lost the youthful innocence in his stare despite the fact that Geralt was sure he had never seen the boy look any younger.

They were an odd trio, not least of all because they never seemed to age.

Geralt sighed. “You’re sure there’s no other way?” He hated the idea of Jaskier being made to suffer - he was just a bard, he wasn’t made for torture in the way that Geralt was.

He wished that he could do this for Jaskier, and it pained him that he could do nothing but watch.

Gunther shook his head slowly. “I am afraid not. Trust me, despite what you may be thinking we will take no pleasure in this.” And judging from the look in his eyes and the way the youngest of the three was chewing on his lip, he was telling the truth.

“Fine.” Geralt placed himself at the head of the table, right behind Jaskier so the bard - no, demon - couldn’t see him but Geralt could watch everything that was happening.

With him in position, the mages got to work.

Sofia pulled a strip of leather from her bag and held it in one hand while she forced Jaskier’s lips apart with the other. She ignored the cursing and screaming and only sighed when the demon instead settled for gritting Jaskier’s teeth together.

Sofia sighed again and extended one finger, aiming it at Jaskier’s jaw. A spark of lightning struck him on the cheek. He yelped, mouth flying open in shock and pain and she took advantage of the reaction by forcing the leather strap into Jaskier’s mouth and pushing on his chin to force him to bite into it. She took the ends and fastened them behind his head to hold it in place.

Satisfied, she stood back and nodded at Gunther, then at the other boy.

It was the boy who stepped forwards next - Lukas, Geralt recalled now. Lukas glanced between Geralt and Jaskier, the only one with enough sense to be worried about inflicting pain on a witcher’s companion. He only relaxed when Gunther reached out and squeezed his shoulder, a quick gesture of kindness and compassion.

“I am sorry, Witcher, for what I will have to do,” he whispered, then placed both of his hands on Jaskier’s bare chest and threw his head back. A few crackles of lightning travelled down his body towards his hands.

Jaskier started to convulse. His entire body shuddered and shook, his boots knocking against the table with every violent convulsion. His jaw was clenched around the strap and his eyes were rolled so far back into his head that only the whites were visible. With every shake his back arched off the table, straining against the thick straps which held him down.

And the noise…his body didn’t have the air to scream but the choking noise in his throat was even more painful to listen to. He sounded like he was drowning, or like someone had wrapped their hands around his throat and were squeezing tighter and tighter until he had no air left to breathe.

Geralt clenched his fists at his sides. It took a lot of focus and effort not to grab Lukas by the hair and drag him away from Jaskier. And it was even more effort not to take the knife from behind Gunther and kill all of them for doing this.

They’re helping him, he forced himself to remember. This will work. The demon will die.

After a full minute of constant shocks, Lukas pulled back. He was panting, his skin pale and slick with sweat, but he wasted no time recovering. Instead he undid the strap around Jaskier’s head and pulled it from the bard’s knife. “What is your name?” he asked.

For a few moments, all Jaskier did was stare. His eyes were dull and glazed, not quite focusing on the mage. He looked so confused and afraid that Geralt was already smiling when Jaskier opened his mouth.

But it wasn’t his voice which came out. “I will not be destroyed! I will not lose this host, I will feed on him and I will starve him. I will take everything he has and you, Witcher, will be able to do nothing but-!”

Lukas replaced the strap.

“Why didn’t it work?” Geralt demanded, his smile gone. “You said it would work.”

“And it will,” Gunther reassured.

Sofia nodded at his side. “It will work. But it may take time. Lukas, again. Tell me if you need me to take over.”

“Not yet,” Lukas mumbled. He lowered his hands to Jaskier’s chest but paused as he caught sight of the large red handprints he’d left behind. His skin flushed as he stepped once to the left and placed his hands on Jaskier’s temples this time.

The shocks began again, and this time for longer. The convulsions were even more violent than last time, his entire body rattling against the table. Geralt could hear his lungs straining, his heart stuttering unevenly against the shocks. Each beat was weaker than the last, and in response the convulsions weakened.

“You’re killing him,” Geralt growled through his teeth. “His heart can’t take it.”

Lukas didn’t stop. It was as if he didn’t hear Geralt, or perhaps he didn’t care. Perhaps this was his plan all along - to force Geralt to watch Jaskier die. Was he in this with the demon? Was he the one who planted it?

Geralt lunged forwards and grabbed the mage by the throat, ignoring the residual shocks as Lukas was dragged away from Jaskier. He pinned the smaller man against the wall and snarled close to his face, “I said, you’re fucking killing him.”

And he could hear it still, Jaskier’s heart struggling to deal with the torture. Could hear his lungs drawing in less and less air with each breath.

He was dying.

Gunther hurried over to Jaskier and pulled out the leather strap. “Can you hear me, bard?” he blurted, looking and sounding more dishevelled than Geralt had ever seen him in all their encounters. He patted Jaskier’s cheeks, then when that didn’t work he resorted to full blown smacking. “Bard, come back.”

Jaskier’s chest was no longer rising and falling.

“Help him,” Geralt growled.

“I’m trying!”

Sofia stood on the other side of the table and placed one hand over Jaskier’s heart. “The demon, it is gone. Like I said, it was controlling his involuntary actions and his body is struggling to readjust. He can’t breathe on his own,” she explained hurriedly. “But we can fix this. We can help him to breathe until his body catches up.”

But before Geralt could demand that she do whatever she could, she straightened up. “Put Lukas down. He rid your friend of the demon and you repay him by strangling him? We will not help any further until you unhand him.”

Geralt didn’t even hesitate, just pulled away from the boy and let him slump to the ground with one hand clutching his neck. He was barely conscious, eyes rolling around lazily in his head.

“There.”

Sofia nodded once and placed her hand over Jaskier’s ribs. Her eyes began to glow and finally, mercifully, Jaskier’s chest rose as he took in a breath.

But, they discovered quickly, as soon as Sofia withdrew the spell his breathing ceased. They stood for what had to be hours, the mages taking turns forcing Jaskier to breathe. Even Lukas, dazed and raspy, took his turn, although he weakened far faster than the others.

And all Geralt could do was watch.

As night became day, Gunther stumbled as he stood over Jaskier. His hand slid from Jaskier’s chest as his knees buckled and he fell heavily to the floor. He was gasping and wheezing himself, barely able to stop himself from slumping face first into the floorboards.

But Geralt wasn’t watching Gunther. He was watching Jaskier, watching as he took one breath, then another, and another, all on his own.

-

It took several more hours for Jaskier to wake. The mages had taken their leave after ensuring that Jaskier would not stop breathing any time soon each of them curling up on the floor with their cloaks wrapped around them - they even left Jaskier the bed. As they slept, Geralt counted out almost all of the gold he had, keeping only enough to pay for a couple of nights in the nearest tavern.

They had more than earned it.

Jaskier stirred in the bed, grimacing as his left temple brushed the pillow. The second set of shocks had left behind even uglier burns than the ones on his chest, and Geralt dreaded to imagine Jaskier’s reaction when he saw them.

For now though, the bard only opened his eyes and blinked sluggishly at Geralt. He glanced around the room and tried to frown, only to hiss in pain as the slight movement aggravated the burns.

“You’ll hurt yourself,” Geralt warned.

Jaskier opened his mouth to speak and Geralt found himself holding his breath in anticipation.

“Hurts,” Jaskier whispered. His words and his voice.

Despite everything - the burns, the pain, the amount of money this healing had taken - Geralt smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
